Chapter Twenty-Six: Scars

"I'm sorry I di' that i'front of you," Cass slurred.

"Well, you do fight really well for a girl," Draco observed calmly, noting the darkness of the sky and checking his watch. "And I think he deserved it."

"He'll be very pissed a'you f'r takin' me back, though, won't he?"

"I'll tell him I brought you to Dumbledore and demanded your dismissal, and then he'll blame him. He does for everything anyway." Cass's hand was still bleeding profusely. "Doesn't that hurt a lot?"

"Draco, you could saw my leg off with a dull spoon and I wouldn't feel it much. I've had enough Firewhiskey to fell Hagrid." Draco took out his wand and mumbled a healing charm anyway. "Thanks. You know, primitive surgeons did use alcohol as an anaesthetic, especially in what Yanks call the Old West."

"Didn't they have morphine?"

"Sure, but it was expensive as hell and addictive to boot. The Civil War produced 67,000 morphine addicts in just five years, you know."

"What was your Civil War about, anyway?"

"States' rights an' slavery." Cass swallowed and spat blood on the ground. "Par'n me. The Southerners wanted to do things the way they 'ad always been done, an' the Northerners felt slavery was wrong. So the South seceded and started the war by attacking Fort Sumter. Lincoln could have just let it go, but then you Brits might've recognized the Confederacy and there'd be two Americas now, plus he wanted to patch things up. So he just kept sending in food until they lost the fort, and then the war really started up."

"Why didn't he just use the atom bomb?"

"Well, the fallout would've drifted up on the Gulf Stream winds and caused major epidemics of leukemia, which would have decimated industry in the larger cities. That, and the South was still important agriculturally, because the Brits weren't getting Indian and Egyptian cotton yet." Cass almost walked into a tree. "That, and I don't think they had it then."

"Okay…what was Gettysburg?"

"A great big battle. Southerners really took a whack on that."

"Andersonville?"

"Prisoner-of-war camp. 13,000 casualties." Draco was incredulous.

"From gunfire?"

"From dysentery, mostly. The place was badly managed and horribly maintained. The guy in charge, Henry Wirz, was executed afterward for war crimes."

"Like at Nuremberg?"

"Yeah, except they didn't need translators for this. How do you know about Nuremberg?"

"My mother's a Spencer Tracy freak."

"Girl after m'own 'eart, your mother is. Has she seen 'Desk Set'?"

"Yeah. What the hell was that Emorac thing anyway?"

"It was based on Eniac, the first computer built. They really did used to be that way."

"With all the little cards?"

"Yep. In fact, there was once a man who worked for Boeing –made airplanes, who got pissed-off at his insurance company. They got his payments wrong and whenever he tried to call he got a recording. So he took some metal and cut it into the shape of one of those cards, added the holes, and spray-painted it beige. Then he magnetized the thing and mailed it to the company. Sure enough, some ditzy git put the card in and pow!"

"Pow?"

"Computers back then used polarized ions. The magnetized card wiped out their entire system."

"Impressive."

"Tell me about it. That was the first computer virus in history." By then they were close to Hogwarts. "Why the sudden interest in Yankee stuff?"

"Professor, you've had quite a lot of alcohol on top of recent trauma and blood loss. Even I know to keep a person talking when they're unstable."

Cass stared dizzily at her student.

"You aren't quite the little prick that I thought you were."

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A week or so later, things were mostly back to normal about Hogwarts. Bill Weasley was still a dish, Snape was still a snarky git, and Cass was back to her role as outrageous American, although a bit subdued in her grilling of Slytherins. Draco Malfoy was back to holier-than-thou and touch-me-not, at least in the public eye, and the Gryffindors were back to pulling ranks and being the quintessential good guys in class. There was, however, one notable change. Blaise Zabini and Maria Catesby had gone traitor. They were having a lovely little sleepover with their newfound female friends in Ginny's empty dorm, which had been deserted by the other Gryffindor girls for the two weeks' spring break.

"So let's have it, Weasley," Blaise sipped at a contraband soda. "How is he?

"What?"

"Come on. Is the Boy Who Lived worth a jump?" Ginny still looked confused. "I hear his wand's pretty big. So…?"

"Oh, you mean in bed!" Ginny picked up a few more pretzels. "I don't know yet. But don't worry, I'll give you a full report."

"Ginny!" Sometimes the petite redhead's candor still shocked Hermione. "Cripes!"

"And how's her brother, Granger, or do you know?" Maria asked.

"Yecch! Ron and I are friends!"

"Oh, good!" Blaise had brightened considerably. The other three girls looked at her. "I've always found redhaired guys to be hot."

"You know what, Blaise? I don't think I'd want your report," Ginny observed with a look of near-nausea. "Did Dobby bring any French onion dip?"

"I did." The carefully warded door opened and Cass strode in, a large covered basket in one hand and a box of cherry Coke in the other. The girls went silent. Cass sighed. "Alright, what have I spilled on myself? What's up?" They remained quiet, clearly wondering what to say. The professor smiled and rolled her eyes. "Guys, I'm okay. Don't worry. A good fight and a hangover from hell, then I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" Ginny asked concernedly.

"Yes. In fact, I actually border on content, thank you for asking."

"Did you see Mr. Tyler recently?" Blaise asked, a little grin playing at the corners of her mouth.

"Yes, just a bit ago. Why?"

"You've forgot your shirt."

"Oh, christ!" Cass quickly pulled the lapels of her jacket shut. "So that's why the first-years were so amazed!"

The party quickly got underway from there. Pretzels and crisps were eaten, soda was drunk in quantities that might have killed a good-sized flobberworm, and Crookshanks was petted and fed by all. Blaise had even swiped a can of tuna especially for him.

"I've always been fond of cats," Ginny observed as the sleepy Crookshanks purred. "Even Mrs. Norris is sort of nice."

"Have any of you met little Shannon, Bill Weasley's cat?" Hermione asked. "She's really small, but very fierce when you try to take her furry mouse."

"Kind of funny how she growls," Maria remarked. "If she weren't so tiny it'd really be scary."

"When'd you meet her?" Cass asked almost absently. Maria went scarlet and the professor quickly turned curious. "Oh, there's blushing involved. Let us hear the tale."

"Were you on a jockstrap raid again?" Blaise asked.

"Eeew, guys! Mental images!" Ginny hid her eyes and cringed.

"I was –just asking about the homework."

"Oh." Cass sighed. "Damn. I love a good racy anecdote."

"Have I ever told you about the time I Transfigured Harry's underwear to a thong?" Ginny asked. "It was right before a Quidditch game. We beat Hufflepuff after fifteen minutes."

"And what does that have to do with it?" Blaise asked.

"He assumes the thong is lucky now. Wears it to every game."

"Merciful peace!" Cass grinned. "So that's why all the girls gasp when he flies too low and turns."

"I had a friend who believed she had lucky socks. She never took them off or watched them. Best Chaser we ever had." Blaise smiled wryly. "Nobody wanted to follow her."

"I had a lucky helmet when I played hockey as a kid," Cass reminisced. "It had a black skid mark five inches long from deflecting a puck, and the face mask was bent to fit my glasses underneath."

"You wear glasses?"

"Not anymore. Got my eyes lasered. It made playing Quidditch in the rain easier."

"Is it true that hockey's really a bloody sport?" Maria asked.

"Quite. See this scar?" Cass indicated a whitish stripe near her collarbone. "I got body-slammed and the pads cut right through my undershirt. When the game ended, there was blood soaked through to my jersey. Coach was right pissed off about the foul."

"He was pissed you got blood on the uniform?" Blaise asked, frowning.

"Nope. He was pissed at the pads company. Wrote them a hellish note about it before we'd even showered off from the game. Rather than face a lawsuit, they sent new gear for the whole team, free. That's why I never had the scar spelled off." Cass ran a finger over the mark. "That, and I'm sort of proud of it."

"Isn't bodyslamming the goalie against the rules?" Hermione asked.

"Yes. And now you know why."

"I have a scar on my knee from practicing Quidditch." Ginny showed the others a faint little scar. "I flew low over my house and scraped it on the weathervane."

"Didn't your mum heal it?" Blaise asked.

"I didn't tell her I'd done it for almost a day."

"Oh." The thing about healing charms was that they had to be done as soon as possible and expertly to avoid scarring. "I have a neat one on the bottom of my foot." Blaise's scar was shaped almost exactly like a paw print. "Stepped on some hot marbles and didn't want to tell on the kids who put 'em by my bed."

"It's neat. Scars are just tattoos of a memory. The pain fades and you have them to remember how you felt, so you can learn from them." Hermione smiled. "I don't know why some people are so down on them."

Cass glanced at the faint line across her knuckles. The alcohol in her blood and the fact that Draco wasn't an expert at healing charms had left the tiny, almost invisible mend-scar. At first she had been resentful, but now she was glad she had the mark. She could make sure now never to forget what might have been.

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Severus Snape stirred the potion with his sleeves rolled up, as it was getting quite hot in the room from the cauldron's heat. As good as his concentration usually was, he didn't hear Hermione sneaking up behind him. She waited until he put down the spoon to stroke his shoulders with both hands, slowly massaging the knots of tension out of the sore muscles. A low, contented rumble of a sigh escaped the man.

"Where did you learn to do that?"

"One of the girls showed me the other day," she replied calmly. "Seemed to me like you could use it."

"Oh, I can…" Severus dimmed the fire on the cauldron down to a low simmer and turned around. "I've missed you these past few days, you know."

"I always miss you, even when I've only been out of potions for three minutes."

"Is Cassandra well?"

"She seems much better since last week."

"That's good. It was kind of a shock to hear about what she did."

"I don't blame her," Hermione said calmly. "I would do it again for her if given the chance."

"And I could see you doing it," Severus smiled wryly. "It's just how she did it that I found shocking. Alcohol should slow the reaction time and make her worse pugilistically, and yet-"

"It just intensified the rage and adrenaline."

"Yes. I've never heard of that happening."

"Think it's a werewolf thing?"

"That's what this potion's for." Severus turned off the burner and poured the cauldron's contents through a funnel and into a large glass bottle. There was a Muggle coffee filter attached to the nozzle of the funnel with a rubber band. It started to catch what looked like leaves. Hermione sniffed the air.

"That isn't-?"

"Mostly spiced rum, yes."

"Why the filter?"

"John insists it's best to remove the green tea before cooling."

"Green tea and spiced rum?"

"With an infusion of Siberian ginseng and Mandrake root."

"Severus!"

"Oh, don't worry. The dragon's blood negates that particular effect."

"I don't smell dragon's blood."

"You have to add that to the serving." The professor smirked. "Care to take a little taste?"

To his shock, Hermione just shrugged and smiled.

"Sure, why not?" She reached for a glass and Severus stopped her.

"I was joking." She grinned at his nervousness. "Besides, it has to cool. How about some tea?"

"Tea would be excellent –the iced kind?"

"In this heat? Naturally." Severus walked over to another cauldron, one with suspicious-looking white lumps in it, and poured it through a funnel as he had the rum into two glasses. It was iced tea a'la potions master, perfectly done.

"You use a cauldron to brew iced tea?"

"Why not? It brews faster hot and then you can just use a cooling charm, plus ice." Hermione leaned over and kissed him.

"You're strange. Darling and quite lovely, but a little strange."

"Thank you." Severus handed her a glass, and after clinking them together, each of the pair drank.

"So what are you doing this afternoon?"

"Cass and John have invited us up to the Shrieking Shack for a movie around seven, if you want to go."

"I remember he mentioned that. Sounds alright." Severus drank another sip of tea. "Do you want to look over the books in my library while I check papers? I still have a few to go."

"Books? You said the right thing to the right Gryffindor."

"To my chambers, then?" With an air of relaxed gleefulness, the pair went off to pursue intellectuality. It was becoming their favorite way to work, Hermione on her research of anything that had pages and held still, and Severus on his day job for awhile before going to join her at the books.

There were only a few problems. Hermione had a slight tendency to argue with books out loud, and Severus looked on grading as a kind of game with wrong answers as targets. Usually one of them would make an absurd outburst, and then the other would smile before the two of them shared a little shrug and sigh.

"Asphodel? Was the boy even in the class?"

"Oscar Wilde was never –this useless git writer!"

"God forbid anything be spelled correctly!"

"What a pompous old fairy schmuck!"

Maybe to people who didn't live and die for knowledge it sounded strange, but to intellectuals like these, an hour of inflammatory reading was the perfect prelude to a fierce snog session.

And who says bookworms never fall in love?

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